


Marked: A series of Star Wars Soulmate AU's

by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12



Series: Intertwined [2]
Category: Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Brentaal Futures Program, Canon Compliant, Character Death, F/F, F/M, Gen, I am deep in trope hell, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Mild Sexual Content, More tags will be added as I add more chapters, One-Shots, Pairing requests are open, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, changing eye color, for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-22 20:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11974659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12/pseuds/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12
Summary: A collection of One-shots exploring different pairing from Star Wars in the realm of my favorite current trope: the Soulmate AU.Requests for pairings are open, just post them in the comments.Chapter 1) Obi-Wan Kenobi and Satine KryzeChapter 2) Galen Erso and Orson Krennic





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An AU where soulmates have what is most important to their soulmate tattooed on the inside of their wrist. Warning: lot of sadness, lot of fluff?
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think!

They were taught from their arrival to ignore the small marks on the inside of their wrists. In the world beyond the temple’s walls, they are taught to covet the small markings, to watch for the moment when they meet the person with a complimentary one. Most children touch them almost constantly in fascination, mimicking parents or siblings who were waiting on the arrival of still-missing partners. Some of the older masters have wondered if that is the reason they dress the babies in long sleeves: out of sight, out of mind, and eventually they stop wondering about the mystery behind them. At least until their biology changes again for the various species during puberty and the fascination starts again and dreams of whirlwind romance or conquering the galaxy with a faithful companion come to mind. For the masters of padawans, it is never a pleasant set of years.

Obi-Wan Kenobi does not seem as bothered by most babies that he can’t see the mark on his wrist. He rarely cries as it is, only when he deems it absolutely necessary for something, and even then, he stops right away once he is tended to. He looks up at each of the masters watching them with bright blue eyes, sometimes sticking a tiny tongue out of his lips in concentration as he watches their face as they bring him a bottle. He holds it tight with tiny fingers, his eyes too observant for one so small. The other babies fidget with their sleeves, reaching for their wrists for the comfort that touching the mark brings.

But little Obi-Wan is often said to fit in his robes better than most Jedi ever would. His sleeves are not worn, he doesn’t cry for that extra edge of comfort, but instead reaches out with the force much sooner than the other babies in his age group. He is held as a tiny prodigy, but for some, it is a cause for concern. Abnormal behavior, at this age especially, could lead to further problems. Obi-Wan drinks his formula and seems entirely unconcerned with his potential future issues.

 

 

On Mandalore, it was widely believed that one’s mark would always match another’s on the planet. Nobility would typically match nobility, though there were the rare occasions that kept the bloodlines varied and strong. Her parents had been one of those matches: her father the soon-to-be-named Duke, her mother the child of baker’s. They found each other easy, however: her mother’s wrist inlaid with the royal insignia, her father’s with the image of a hearth. They knew since childhood, and their meeting had been intentional.

Hers appeared a little less than a year after her birth when she squirmed in her crib and her older brother watched her through the bars as she poked and prodded at her wrist, wriggling chubby fingers over her small face. Her parents had been overwhelmed with joy, it was always troubling though they knew logically that one soulmate had to be born first.

It was odd though. Unlike her brother’s, with the tiny inscription clearly in Mando’a, hers was different. A mark not unfamiliar but not seen ever on Mandalore. Satine Kryze’s mother ran a hand over her daughter’s wrist, tracing the bold outline of the Jedi seal that had entered her daughter’s life. Somewhere, she wondered if another confused mother knew what was coming for their child.

 

 

“What does yours look like, Obi-Wan?” The little boy who sat next to him spoke in a hushed whisper. Obi-Wan shrugged, trying to focus on his meditation. The boy frowned, holding his own wrist in his hand.

“Mine’s a fish.” He said, and showed it to Obi-Wan, an odd noun scribbled under it in basic. Obi-Wan thought it sounded like the name of a solar sailor more than a person. They had been made to read about the marks. It was whatever their soulmate held most dear that would be on their wrist. They had been made to analyze them, even though Obi-Wan though he had very little interest in such things anyway: to see what characteristics they might have that would pair them with their mate to begin with.

His own was confusing. It was a sigil that he didn’t recognize but was sure he had seen before. But it was inlaid with what seemed to be the branches and leaves of an olive tree, wrapping themselves around the corners of it. Unlike most, there were no words, so he wasn’t too concerned. Perhaps his soulmate, whomever they were, didn’t like to read. He wondered then, how they could be soulmates.

“That’s a royal crest.” The boy said, grabbing Obi-Wan’s arm before he could pull away. “Where are the words?”

“We’re not supposed to focus on them.” Obi-Wan answered softly, wishing this boy would just let him meditate in peace. The boy shrugged and stood up.

“Yours is weird anyway.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi sighed and closed his eyes.

 

 

“Someday, you will be heir to all of this, Satine.” Her father said to her, standing on the balcony of the Mandalorian royal palace. He was quieter now than Satine Kryze had ever known him to be. Since her mother and brother had been killed in an accident the year before, the words between them always seems strained. It was harder, she knew, for her father to handle things without her mother’s gentles guidance. The mark on his wrist had faded into a pale scar that he now kept hidden in his sleeves.

“I can share it with someone, Papa.” She said cheerfully, thinking of all the happy pairs of soulmates she had encountered in her few years of life. Someday, she and her soulmate would rule Mandalore. But her father said nothing and simply smiled at her. But it did not reach his eyes. He was sad.

Why he was sad, she did not know. It wasn’t as if she was born without a mark. She had it, right there on her wrist. She thought it was beautiful.

“You are a Kryze,” He said finally, turning so that she might follow him inside, careful not to step on his long blue robes. “You need no one.”

“You didn’t need Mama?” She asked quietly, not crying because she didn’t want to.

He didn’t answer.

 

 

He thinks kissing has its merits. That sex and the slight tang of alcohol and the feeling of skin on skin is all very much appealing. He finally isn’t unlike other padawans, except in the fact that he doesn’t spend every waking moment outside of strict training shacked up in a hole with anther Padawan, desperate to relieve some sort of internal tension. He makes time for his studies, his readings. He does more than he needs to for training. He likes to think that he isn’t some unholy terror to Qui-Gon. Still, those things aren’t without their merits.

What he doesn’t care for is that each bed partner he has, be they from the temple or from the city, checks the mark on his wrist to see if it matches their own. He wants to say to them that if they were soulmates, they would know well before now and that looking would do them no good. But he doesn’t, and he humors them as he thinks one should. He can feel their disappointment through the force.

He’s heard tell of only one pair of Jedi that discovered they were soulmates and left the order as a result. He wonders how strong the biological compulsion must be if it resulted in one leaving the order. He couldn’t picture himself doing it. Ever. For anything less than treason itself. But then again, Obi-Wan Kenobi had never met his soulmate.

 

 

She has suitors. After she formally assumes the throne at eighteen, its impossible to keep them at bay much longer. With her parents both gone, the choice of her marriage is left to her, a rarity in and of itself, and she finds that none of those who vie for her affections van quite capture them. Some are impressive people, some are skilled lovers, but she feels very little connection them beyond perhaps the physical and occasionally the intellectual and she hopes that eventually they will stop calling on her.

When the war starts, her mind turns to more important things anyhow. Keeping her people safe and fed and away from danger. Threats on her own life that become so frequent she doesn’t quite remember what it’s like to not be afraid. Then the fear becomes numbing and she focuses further on her work in every way she can: keeping herself safe on the front lines of both debate and battle, keeping her planet from tearing itself to pieces.

The mark fades from her memory, only coming to mind when she sees it in the brief moments she has to herself to shower or sleep. Satine Kryze wonders what her soulmate would do in the situation: she hopes they might be brave. But as she has learned, few people are brave enough to make a difference on Mandalore.

 

 

He stands a half-step back from his master, looking around at the secret landing platform they have been moved to. They are picking up an endangered Duchess who has apparently been put in so much danger over the past few months that the planet sent out an emergency signal for Jedi help. This, he knew, would be his last long mission before the trials, and he was eager to see it started. This place, however, was a worn-torn hellhole and the excitement has dissipated to quiet anxiety that burned in his chest as he watched the trees, feeling the presence of dozens of beings he couldn’t see moving around them.

“Are we to handle any negotiations tonight, Master?” He asked, and watched as Qui-Gon released a long breath.

“Our main concern tonight is to get the Duchess to safety. The area is on lockdown. We will start negotiations when we can.” Obi-Wan nodded at his words, and knew his master understood his comprehension, though he was turned away. He watched as a small speeder came into view, a crowed of cloaked figures stepping out before what must have been the Duchess followed them out, dressed in athletic clothing, holding a backpack of what must be supplies and rations, her bright blonde hair pulled back from her face.

Obi-Wan Kenobi couldn’t help but look away, his wrist starting to burn for reasons he couldn’t rationalize.

 

 

She almost stopped walking. Her future protectors were standing, dressed in what must have been typical Jedi apparel at the end of the rendezvous point. As she walked, looking them both over, her wrist started to burn as if it had caught on fire. She gripped it tight, one of her guards turning to look at her with concern. She shook her head and he looked away. She didn’t have time for whatever this was, and as it stood, she didn’t know which of them she was reacting to. One was a much older man, gentle looking but powerful, the other was her age, an odd look on his own face.

Satine Kryze pushed it out of her mind, as she had done so many times, and stood to face them, knowing after only a moment when she caught the gaze of the younger man, his blue eyes seeming to go almost through her.

 

 

When he kisses her for the first time, there’s no mention of it. When she pulls his tunic off and presses him back down onto his robes, she makes no move towards his wrist. He wonders, almost marvels at it. But he doesn’t question it.

For once, there is far more to this relationship than anything strictly physical or anything strictly intellectual. He can feel the emotions flowing back and forth between them, the strength of their bond as they grow closer together. It occurs to him that Qui-Gon can feel it too.

It’s in one of these encounters that Obi-Wan Kenobi stops wondering why others have left and scares himself with the fragility of what he has worked his whole life to accomplish.

 

 

She can feel herself falling. In love, maybe, but mostly she feels she is falling out of control. Their time together is fleeting each day as peace draws nearer, but she does not find herself mourning as she thought she would. With each passing day, her people grow safer, and it is only her that is being left behind.

It is a sacrifice she knows she must make. What sort of life could they have anyway? He is a Jedi, and his devotion to his Order rivals the devotion she sees in herself. Only once, perhaps twice, does it cross her mind to ask him to stay with her when all of this is over. In dark moments when they are both still flushed from their contact, or breathing hard together, or nearly asleep in the darkness of some cave as his master scouts in front of them.

Satine Kryze wonders how he feels. If his connection to the force makes this any clearer for him. The way he clings to her in sleep, she doesn’t think that it does.

 

 

When he sees her again, it is as if someone has hit him with a bucket of cold water. He feels a shiver run through his spine, doing his best to contain it. His wrist, no longer burning, itches softly. He can’t help but be excited to see her again, after years of distance. He can’t control the chemical reaction of their bond either, and can feel it rushing through him like a wave of pure electricity.

He hesitates, but only for a moment. She is changed. They are both older, of course, but there is something stiffer there. She has had to deal with so many things since their youth; in the back of his mind, he had left a place for Mandalorian politics, and she had remained at the forefront of them since his departure. He stepped further into the hall, feeling her eyes on him.

Obi-Wan Kenobi swallowed, putting on a smile that got him far in most diplomatic negotiations. He had the dreadful feeling that this time, perhaps the most important time, it would not work.

 

 

When he stepped into the throne room, it was as if her lungs decided to no longer be a functional piece of her body. But she was far better at containing her emotions than she had been, and she pressed her lips into a thin line rather than show him a reaction. It would do no good either way, and she would rather this go smoothly.

She had known he would be the one to come when she sent the order. In the nearly two decades since she had last seen him, she had never sent a call to the Jedi for fear of what might happen. But she had ruled Mandalore for long enough to know when she needed help, and the mess with Deathwatch required a very specific brand of help.

Satine Kryze shifted on her throne, watching him walk towards her with uneasy trepidation, a long-ago unasked question zooming in and out of her mind in quick succession.

 

 

When Maul releases her, he catches her in his arms. He feels her skin, the familiar itch of his wrist burning. He watches her eyes, seeing his for what will now be the last time. He holds her hand, overwhelmed. Her eyes fall from his. “My dear Obi-Wan.” She gasps out, and she sees his wrist, half covered by his Death Watch armor. “I’ve loved you always.” Her eyes go back to his. “I always will.”

Obi-Wan feels the burning in his wrist again as the body in his arms turns cold.

 

Satine Kryze, in those last few seconds of life, after her eyes close, imagines his mark and her own. How strange, she thinks, that in all the pairs of soulmates she’s seen, in all the marks others have showed her, showing what their mates most treasured passion or possession, never has she seen the name of their soulmate. Her own mark of the Jedi Order, Obi-Wan’s of the sigil of Mandalore, intertwined with a visage of peace. And she realizes that they have lived their lives as they were destined to. That their life together was only a tangential moment in what was truly most important to them both.  


	2. The Eyes are Windows: Galen/Krennic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might make this one into two parts, depending on how you all feel about it! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, please R and R, let me know what you think :)

Galen Erso found the whole concept of frivolous sexual behavior to be strange. Not that he didn’t find certain people attractive, and not that he sometimes, when he had more alcohol than he needed to have on a weeknight, didn’t feel compelled to find a bed partner, but he was more inclined to the old-fashioned notion of a life-long, dedicated romance. Until his arrival on Brentaal, it hadn’t seemed that unusual of a concept. Most couples seemed to spend their lives searching for a soulmate, and enjoying a whirlwind romance with the person they were destined to be in a way that was both sexually and romantically gratifying.

Then, after one semester, his roommate had transferred and two days into the spring, he had a new roommate who he was yet to actually speak to. His clothes were there, along with toiletries and disparagingly hidden bottles of alcohol that he emptied on an almost daily basis. He had architecture posters on the wall, and nameplate that he had been given at a pre-Program internship. But otherwise, his brief interactions with Orson Krennic had been seeing his curly hair sticking out of his blanket since he came back to the room far later than Galen did, and his early morning interactions with both of Krennic’s nighttime guests: a boy from Galen’s physics class that was at least four years older, and a girl he had never even seen before who hadn’t know how to get out of their wing of the dormitories.

When he returned after class, Krennic was always gone. When he came back after dinner to do work in the room, Krennic was gone. All through his shower and his preparations for the next day. Not that Galen minded: his natural inclinations made it difficult for him to socialize anyway and Krennic seemed to be perfectly satisfied with his own isolation in their relationship. He wondered about Krennic sometimes: not only what he was doing, but also his personality. His mother had told him once that lonely people tended to push themselves into large groups to make up for the deficit. Galen couldn’t make much sense of that, but upon not meeting Orson Krennic, he was willing to try.

Which is why, after a dinner of mid-rim pasta salad and several glasses of water after his conditioning earlier that day (his scholarship hinged on his academic ability and willingness to participate in Program athletics), he was more than a little surprised to find Orson Krennic sitting on his bed when he returned to the room. He didn’t look up when Galen came in, or when he took his things into their shared shower to bathe. He was pouring over a book so with such intense focus as Galen had rarely seen in a person. He couldn’t see his face for his long hair, but he found it difficult enough to initiate conversation as it was, and decided it was best to leave him to it.

By the time he had finished his routine in the refresher, he had almost forgotten Krennic was there to begin with. It seemed that was a mutual forgetfulness as his roommate startled upwards as Galen closed the bathroom door louder than intended. Krennic’s eyes locked on his, bright blue and almost piercing for a long moment before a small smile graced his features.

“Hello,” He said, and Galen stared at him. There was an odd, though not quite unpleasant prickling running along his spine. Krennic’s eyes were both the same shade of bright blue, which Galen had suspected. Few people at the program, disregarding professors, had the mismatched irises that dictated they had found their soulmates. Though the chemistry was the stuff of many studies, some even done on Brentaal, when one first made eye contact with their soulmate, they would wake the next morning as if they had switched one of their eyes with them. Galen, having just looked at himself in the mirror as he shaved away his slight stubble, knew for a fact that both of his were the same shade of dark hazel they had always been.  With Krennic’s almost famous nocturnal carousing, it didn’t surprise Galen that both of his remained the same.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” Galen said finally, breaking his gaze and stepping away to place his clothes in the hamper.

“Have you ever read Nik’s theory on integrated metrics for measuring energy capacity in kyber crystals?” Krennic spoke suddenly. He lifted his head, turning around again to see Krennic watching him, seeming to gauge his reaction. It wasn’t like he could hide the surprise form him, despite the fact that Galen considered himself to be quite skilled at masking his emotions.

“No.” He answered, going to stand in front of his bed where he could look directly at Krennic. “Is that what you’re reading?” He asked quietly, moving his eyes to the book that Krennic now held between his hands.

“Part of it.” He said, “I was talking to Dr. Raspail about it and she mentioned that you might be interested in looking at it as well. She said you had made some bold statements to Hawkins at the end of term last year.” Orson Krennic grinned at him like it was some inside joke they had shared. Galen felt his ears grow red, a heavy blush pulling across his features. He hadn’t meant to make a fool of Professor Hawkins, but the man was asking idiotic and insufferable questions that Galen had answered clearly earlier in his presentation and the man was simply being a hindrance. Perhaps his tone had been more patronizing than he intended it to be, which he did feel guilty about, but since Professor Hawkins had essentially banned him from his office afterwards, he hadn’t had the chance or extreme conviction needed to apologize.

“Are you interested in cystallography?” He asked instead, wanting to change the subject.

“Not particularly.” Krennic responded, leaning back against his wall, his head against a blueprint poster of the layout of the Galactic Senate structure on Coruscant. “I’m more interested in their capabilities as far as powering external systems are concerned. One of the limits of architecture is designing structures that can be powered sustainably with all of the amenities that people require. Based on some of this theory, I would say that using the krystals as a power source is possible.”

Galen took a moment to climb back onto his own bed, hands folded together in his lap. When they had come for orientation, it seemed that every first conversation he would ever have would be relegated to rudimentary facts about other people: where are you from? What are your interests? Who are your parents? What classes are you taking? Those conversations were awkward, painful, and made it no easier to find people whom he could sit next to in classes or at the dining hall, where he actually preferred to eat alone to begin with. This was a first conversation, by comparison, of near epic proportions. He could feel his own excitement at getting to discuss his most profound topic with someone who finally seemed to understand.

“I would love to hear your thoughts.” And, almost without warning, the book was coming in Galen’s direction. “Feel free to write in that. If it gets too messy, I’ll purchase another.” Orson Krennic smiled at him again in a way Galen knew was to intentionally draw him in to him. To peak his interest. To make him feel comfortable. He wasn’t sorry to say that it was working. It was rare someone put in effort.

“Thank you.” He looked down at the book, an assemblage of journal articles and peer-reviewed pieces that he would need to look into.

“If you don’t mind,” Krennic said, and he looked up again, catching his gaze, “I’d like to hear about your research endeavors so far, what classes you’ve taken. I thought we might swap some details since we are living together after all.”

“Oh.” Said Galen, setting the book on the bed, his mind already whirring with a thousand answers to those questions. “I suppose that would be fine.” He thought for a moment and bit his lip in shyness. “What did you want to hear about first?”

Krennic leaned forward, his eyes almost glittering. “Tell me about you first, Galen Erso. I’d like to know about you.”

 

 

Galen woke up at the same time he did every morning, going to the refresher to go through his morning routine as he did: dressing in his uniform running a comb through his hair. This morning, though, he was in a rush. He pulled on his clothes quickly, making his bed almost haphazardly (he didn’t flatten out the creases in the duvet cover) and was practically bolting to his early morning class, simply running a hand through his hair and spitting out mouthwash in a drinking fountain on his way.

He ignored the strange look he received from the girl who sat next to him; he was certain it was simply because he didn’t look as well put together as he usually did. He couldn’t help it. He had been up so late talking, speaking in ever-narrowing circles on points of interest that he and Krennic shared that he had hardly been able to sleep. Krennic, in fact, was still asleep, but operated on a far different schedule than Galen to begin with. Despite that fact, and that he hadn’t woken up at his usual time, Galen felt oddly awake. His veins felt almost alive with energy, though he thought it just might be the slight panic he had at the thought of being late.

He continued to garner strange looks throughout the day, however, and choose to return to his room rather than spend his usual afternoon in the library. If people were simply going to stare at him he would rather have privacy, He hadn’t realized how much his slightly different appearance would affect some folk.

When he opened the door, Krennic was on the bed again, looking his own work spread out of the bed. He smelled like he had freshly showered. “Hello.” Galen said, though even to him, his voice sounded strange, an odd quality coming over the tone. He was excited to see Krennic again, perhaps they could continue their conversation from the day before, or even discuss other things. Krennic knew far more than Galen had ever given him credit for. “How are you?”

“Have you looked in the mirror today, Galen?”

“No.” Galen couldn’t remember looking in the mirror except perhaps to pay it a slight glance that morning to make sure his clothes weren’t in complete disarray. But even that had been fleeting.

“Perhaps you should.” Krennic said, and his own voice sounded odd, like he was highly amused with something, though Galen doubted that it had anything to do with the academic things he was studying currently. Galen nearly sighed, Krennic hadn’t even looked at him, and he knew something was off about his appearance.

Galen set his bags down on the bed where he could reach them on his return and begin work. He stepped into the bathroom, and at first glance, thought that he looked perfectly fine. He reached down to grab the comb, determined to rein in a few vagrant strands, and dropped it halfway through pushing back his bangs. He blinked, closed his eyes for a long moment before reopening them. There was no hiding it. He felt like the air had been sucked from his lungs.

He stepped to the doorway to see Krennic was laughing on the bed. “I thought people were giving me odd looks because I wasn’t wearing my mandatory uniform sash all day.” Krennic said, “Then some girl asked me who it was.” He looked up at Galen, catching his gaze with a brilliant smile.

Galen swallowed, but he could feel his body reacting. Excitement, mostly, some desire that he tried to quell as his ears started burning almost instantly. A need for closeness. He reached out his hand, feeling Krennic reach his up to it, intertwining their fingers. “Fascinating, really.” He smiled again, as if this were his own private joke. Though now, he had no choice but to share it with Galen.

Galen kept his eyes on Orson Krennic’s watching one of his familiar blue eyes glitter with amusement and one of Galen’s own dark hazel do the same. He smiled, thinking fleetingly of how his own eyes must look.

 


End file.
